“A journey is a person in itself; no two are alike. And all plans, safeguards, policing, and coercion are fruitless. We find after years of struggle that we do not take a trip; a trip takes us.”

-John Steinbeck, “Travels with Charley: In Search of America”

The road trip, it has been immortalized by many an author, from Kerouac’s stream of consciousness, to Steinbeck’s descriptive narrative, to the frenetic, drug-fueled musings of Hunter S. Thompson. It’s an American tradition.

Tires humming beneath me, chewing up endless miles as they roll west. The loneliness of the small hours of the morning, the only company my four-legged companions snoring contentedly in the back, and the music – Tom Petty, Janis Joplin, Led Zeppelin, Bob Dylan, all whose lyrics I belt out at the top of my lungs, windows down to let the cool air wash over me and keep me alert.

Gas stops pared down to minutes – fill the tank, let the dogs stretch their legs, grab a drink to make sure caffeine levels remain high enough that if I had to push the vehicle to my destination, I could. The sun peeking over the eastern horizon, lighting everything ahead of me. The terrain changing from Midwestern corn fields to the rolling short grass prairies of eastern Wyoming, Montana or Colorado. That first glimpse of the Front Range in the distance. Approaching my first night’s stop, delirious exhaustion bordering on hallucination, overridden by the excitement of the new surroundings and the possibilities. This is my happy place, the place I feel at home, the place I feel alive.

For years I’ve dreamed of loading a backpack and wandering off into the wilderness to experience nature for more than just a day hike followed by a night of car camping. An excessive number of hobbies won out and backpacking was kicked to the back burner. Until now! At the end of last year, I started thinking about how wild it would be to do a Rim to Rim backing trip in the Grand Canyon. In December, my first real backpacking pack was on its way, an Osprey Aura AG 50.

Fast forward to the end of June, I had a few days off after the 4th of July holiday and was planning on hiking the Shingle Mill Pathway in the Pigeon River Country State Forest in the Lower Peninsula’s northeast section. Home to the state’s only elk herd (along with many other of Michigan’s native flora and fauna) and the largest section of contiguous state land ownership in Michigan, it is a quiet retreat from the madness of city life. I couldn’t wait to set foot in what forester and conservationist, P.S. Lovejoy coined the ‘Big Wild’ and decided to experience it properly, I needed to spend a night and walk the trails with a loaded pack on my back.

Lovejoy Monument – Pigeon River Country State Forest

Mira and I left AuGres (my parents’ house) in the morning for the short drive to the Pigeon River Country State Forest. Driving east out of Vanderbilt I saw my first brown and white DNR sign indicating I was near, excitement mixed with a touch of anxiety welled up as I pulled into the parking area across from the Pigeon River Bridge Campground.

Over the winter I had read about the proper way to pack a backpack and practiced several times at home prior to leaving, my pack weight upon leaving the lot was 29 pounds with food and water (including Mira’s food). Mira’s Ruffwear Singletrack pack was loaded with her Ruffwear boots, her food and water dishes and our Thermacell. She was ridiculously happy to be tackling another adventure with me. After snapping a few photos we proceeded to take our first steps of our backpacking adventure.

Time lapse of packing, realizing I forgot to load my hydration bladder, unpacking and then repacking :-)​​ **upside down until you hit play

​Trying to get a nice photo at the start of our journey – Mira had other ideas 😂

Time to start!

While planning, I decided that I wanted to do the loop clockwise (no particular reason, my brain just likes clockwise). Plans were quickly squashed when I failed to realize the loops “end” didn’t have a common point near the campground. I continued on counterclockwise, toward the Pigeon River Country Headquarters and the next campground.

A few miles in, it became apparent that my pack was very ill-adjusted. My butt hurt, my legs were uncomfortable and I had the sensation that the top of the pack was forcing my head forward, chin to chest. Instead of stopping and attempting to fix it like a sane human, I continued forward, completely uncomfortable. We only saw one couple and their young Brittany in the stretch from Pigeon River Bridge to the Headquarters, stopping for a minute to chat about dogs and bird hunting. The forest’s solitude was proving to be blissful! We made a quick stop at the headquarters building to read the pamphlets posted outside about bears, elk and fishing before heading toward the campground for a break.

Forest Headquarters

The Pigeon River State Forest Campground, while a nice little rustic campground, was definitely a stark contrast to quiet of the trail. Families cooking on grills and bathing suit clad campers carrying inflated tubes were all bustling around, enjoying the nice (hot) weather and the cool water. One such family stopped me to talk, they had a young Aussie at home. They were curious about Mira’s pack and decided that their energetic four-legged family member should start carrying their own trail goodies. I made a couple of stops at the river to let Mira wade in, get a drink and cool her paws before heading on. We reached the 6 mile split and kept heading heading north through the pines toward the 10 mile split where we would head west to check out one of the area’s sinkhole lakes before making camp for the night

6 Mile Split

Photos of clear turquoise waters with downed logs drew my attention while browsing the internet during the planning phase of this trip, Section 4 Lake looked like a place I would need to stop and wet a line. The lake which used to be off limits to fishing due to research purposes (these sinkhole lakes with no streams entering or exiting were perfect for studying) was now open to fishing during trout season for anglers using artificial means only. Thoughts of catching a jewel colored Brook Trout from this stunning water made me pack my 6 piece fly rod and a small stash of flies.

After taking a steep, marked trail down to the lake, I tethered Mira in the shade and took my increasingly uncomfortable pack off to access my fishing gear. The tree lined shores made fly fishing a tough prospect and while I saw fish rising in the middle and gave it a serious go, I ended up skunked. Float tubes are allowed in Section 4, which would be an excellent way to better fish this body of water. Begrudgingly, I stashed my fishing gear and wrestled on my pack (I was getting better at it, but it was still a feat) and started the final push to the night’s camping spot, the south end of Grass Lake.

Fishing at Section 4

I found the dispersed sites easily upon arrival and chose one further away from the trail with plenty of well spaced trees and access to water for Mira. Finally, I could crack one of the beers I hauled in to celebrate our first successful day of backpacking! After finding the two perfect trees, I strung the hammock and rain fly and laid a ground sheet under it on which Mira promptly crashed. Dinner for the evening was courtesy of Mountain House, my favorite, Beef Stroganoff. Dinner finished and Mira fed, I set about hanging a bear bag for the first time. I’m sure it would have been hilarious for anyone watching and after many tries I was finally successful.

Mira, one beer in and crashed…lightweight 😜

Dinner time for Mira and me

In the hammock, Mira on top of me (it was 80 degrees out, perfect furry dog cuddling weather), I read until my eyes would no longer stay open. The haunting sounds of the lake’s resident loon, the chorus of bullfrogs and the incessant buzz of blood sucking mosquitos lulled me into a deep sleep.

Six months ago today, I sat nervously in an emergency vet exam room, exhausted emotionally and physically, waiting to hear the fate of my dear 11 year old Australian Shepherd Mira. We were at my parents, visiting for Christmas, when she began refusing food and vomiting but still playing with the other dogs and acting fairly chipper. I shrugged it off for a day thinking that she just had a bug and would be fine, in fact she seemed to improve the following day. The next morning I woke to her laying under the hide-a-bed vomiting and knew it was time to take action.

Since I was three hours away from home, I tried getting her into my parents’ vet, but they had no availability. I’m not much for crying but I was struggling to keep it together. I ended up getting her into my boyfriend’s vet, still 2 hours away but closer than my own. They checked her out, X-rayed her abdomen and didn’t find anything concerning, what a relief! A shot of Cerenia to keep the nausea at bay and we were on on our way.

Sick little dog – waiting to be checked ﻿out

She seemed to perk up a little bit after that but as the afternoon progressed she started vomiting again and by the time I got home, my stoic little dog was leaning against the wall moaning. I rushed her to the emergency vet near my house where they quickly brought her back to an exam room. While the vet reviewed the X Rays with me, my heart dropped. There was a visible blockage a short way into her small intestine. My old girl needed surgery. As the realization hit that i had to leave the clinic without her, my ability to contain my emotions ceased. I gave my wobbly drugged up punk a hug and a teary-eyed “I love you” and walked out the door.

Leaving my girl 😞

Ugly sobbing started as I wailed to my mom over the phone that I wasn’t ready to be without her. I drove home, squinting through tears. Yukon stoically tolerated me clinging to him while desperately trying to sleep for a couple of hours, phone by my head, waiting for a call informing me of the outcome of Mira’s surgery. The call came a couple of hours later, I hesitated answering it for fear that bad news might await. What would I do if she hadn’t made it off the table? My worrying was for naught, the vet was able to remove the blockage, an unknown foreign object, and Mira was awake and alert in her kennel. I was able to sink into a deep, much needed sleep.

I awoke around 7am to a call from the vet, Mira wasn’t doing well, she crashed hard about an hour after she came out of anesthesia and they were worried about DIC (disseminated intravascular coagulation). They had to run some blood work and would get back to me when they knew what was happening. After what felt like a million years, I got the call that Mira’s blood work looked fine and that she seemed to be perking up a little. Sobbing, I asked the vet if I could come and see her. “Of course”, she said and mentioned we could discuss her progress.

I paced the exam room, waiting for someone to bring my girl out to see me. Around the corner she came like a drunken sailor, wobbly-legged and groggy. She hurled a big puddle shortly before the room but seemed as happy to be back with me as I was to have her by my side. I laid on the floor, her head on my lap just happy she was still alive. I stayed with her this way for an hour only leaving so she could rest, promising that I would be back in the evening to visit her.

Lots of staples

Sick punk

That evening, I went back – Mira, still weaving down the hallway seemed to be a little more perky. After talking with the vet, we decided to take her off of the bupenorphine thinking it may have been prolonging her subdued state. She laid with her head on my leg until it was time for me to leave.

Evening visit

Work was unbearable the next day, I’d have to wait until the afternoon to visit Mira but a call to the clinic set me at ease, she was doing well and would likely be able to come home that evening. I stopped after work and she was standing on her own, walking around. The staff had her loose in the clinic and she had been wandering around exploring on her own. The good news was she was likely coming home but she was still urping up brown fluid which concerned them.

Standing on her own!!

Afternoon cuddles

Back to the clinic at 8pm, the vet on staff was concerned that Mira was still regurgitating fluid, she thought another night may be good for her. My heart and my budget (EVet visits are $$) told me she needed to come home with me that night. I felt that being in her own familiar place, with Yukon and me next to her that she’d recover more quickly. They loaded me up with enough drugs for an army and the dreaded cone of shame and handed me the bill (which was cringeworthy but worth every penny). Into the Jeep she went, we were home in no time, both her and Yukon excited to see each other. Back together, the world was right again.

Homeward bound

Together

Over the next week, she slowly but steadily improved, despite the evil cone that I forced her to wear (which made her forget how to dog) and regular rectal temps (super fun for us both). Her incision became infected and she popped a couple of stitches (keeping even a senior Aussie calm is a chore) but a couple of visits to my regular vet (who was a great help with aftercare – and whose staff was saintlike when dealing with my many phone calls) and a couple of antibiotic changes and my little fruit loop was back to normal!

Over the six months since this happened, I routinely find myself staring over at her as she sleeps, thinking about how close I came to losing her. As she ages, I know someday I will have to face that reality but I’m so thankful that it was pushed down the road, that I have more time with her. Just a dog, just a piece of my heart.

A ferocious barking woke me up from a dead sleep, momentarily confused, I got my wits about me and realized it was Yukon. Now, anyone who has dogs knows they have different barks for different reasons. Well, this was Yukon’s serious “I mean business!” bark, Mira joined in, though I’m pretty sure she was just barking to bark (she loves barking). I had talked to a couple people that mentioned seeing bears around the campground so while I couldn’t see anything outside the Jeep, I’m assuming a wandering bear made its way through the campground. There was no sleeping after that rude awakening, I tossed and turned until dawn when I decided to head down to see if fishing had improved.

Unfortunately, the slow fishing streak continued on into the morning. Fish were still rising after some invisible bugs and I did manage a few small rainbows (one of which would become dinner) on the fly rod. As I was cleaning the sole fish I kept, a couple drove up and started unloading some fishing gear. They introduced themselves as Keith and Tina from Arizona. After chatting a bit, I showed them the places I usually caught fish off the dock, and then left them to their fishing.

Small rainbows

I’ve always driven past the turnoff for Blue Spruce Campground, a rustic campground northeast of Posey Lake a short drive off of Hell’s Backbone Road, this time I made it a point to turn in and check it out. It’s a small but pretty campground, only a handful of campsites and butted up against Pine Creek. I let the dogs out to play in the water and considered grabbing a fly rod. Pine Creek supposedly has small wild trout in it, and what better scenery to catch them in. After realizing my Jetboil stove, that’s traveled with me since my first long motorcycle trip in 2010, was missing, I got the dogs back in the car and headed back to Posey Lake. Unfortunately, my stove was nowhere to be found so I headed into town stopped at Utah Canyon Outdoors and picked up a Jetboil Flash so I could eat warm food for the rest of the trip!

Mira enjoying Pine Creek

The weather was still quite cold and I was ready to wear shorts, so after a stop at Nemo’s for a burger and fries, I decided I’d head to Stanton Creek Campground on Lake Powell for the night. Last year we had a pretty miserable, windy, stormy experience there and ended up spending the night holding our tent up with out feet against 6o mph gusts and multiple thunderstorms. Hopefully my 2016 experience would be more pleasant.

Burger and fries at Nemo’s – Michigan, you need to get on this Fry Sauce, it’s tasty!

The lovely red rock formations of Capitol Reef National Park, made way for the barren bentonite hills on the park’s eastern end and soon Hanksville. Southbound on UT-95 toward the lake, the scenery changed and the temperature rose. I soon reached the Glen Canyon NRA entrance gate and Stanton Creek campground shortly thereafter. I drove around the lake for a bit, looking for a shallow spot to let the dogs swim (Yukon was whining since the second he set eyes on the water). They were in heaven, chasing a tennis ball out into the crystal clear water endlessly. Attempting to herd them back to the car was like trying to drag a 4-year old away from Chuck E. Cheese – grumbling and whining (with a couple dashes back to the water) I finally got them loaded up so we could find the perfect spot to camp.

I eventually found a site right on the water with some decent looking structure for fishing. If you plan on camping down near the lake, it’s mandatory to have a WAG bag or some sort of toilet system, I just keep a box of WAG bags in my Jeep. There are out houses further up in the campground. I staked the dogs out, got them fed, donned shorts and sandals and started working the shoreline with fly and gear.

I caught a small sunfish that looked like something had recently chomped on it. It was fairly slow going after that, with some sort of large fish following my fly or spinner in on each cast, but never committing (I’d later find out they were Striped Bass). Finally, something bit and while it didn’t fight too well, I was excited, it was my very first walleye (very amusing considering I grew up on Lake Huron-currently a walleye hotspot). Lake Powell has no limits on either Walleye or Striped Bass due to their predatory effect on bait fish and their rapid proliferation, so I bonked this one on the head and proceeded to less-than-expertly fillet it. Trout and walleye for dinner! With the sun going down, I enjoyed a small fire, watching the stars blanketing the darkening sky and the lights in the million dollar houseboats at Bullfrog twinkling in the distance. Lake Powell had redeemed itself.

Camping is great, but a good night’s sleep in a real bed, followed by a shower is pretty OK too 🙂 I gassed up the Jeep and grabbed a breakfast sandwich before hitting the road, making my way to UT-12. The mountains on either side of UT-20, the route that connects I-15 to US-89, were socked in with clouds, quite a surreal drive.

Head in the clouds

Last October, we picked up an America the Beautiful pass prior to a trip out to Yellowstone to fish. I’ve never stopped at Bryce with the dogs given the fact they can’t go anywhere except the paved parking lots and viewpoints. With the pass, I didn’t feel guilty about spending the cash to make a quick drive through just to hit a couple of viewpoints. Bypassing the busier overlooks, I stopped at a handful of the less occupied to take in the sweeping views of other worldly formations. A light dusting of snow contrasted nicely with the deep red of the hoodoos as we moved up in elevation.

Bryce Canyon Viewpoints

Panoramas

Mira enjoyed the view

A fellow park goer kindly offered to take a family photo – like trying to herd cats 🙂

Exiting the park, we saw some of the park’s resident wildlife – mule deer, pronghorn antelope and prairie dogs all roaming in the meadows along either side of the park road. Escalante is a scenic 1 hour drive east of the turn off to Bryce, the surrounding hills all had a new dusting of snow from the previous day’s flurries. Posey Lake Road up to the campground changes drastically as you drive up in elevation. Juniper and sage make way for tall pines and aspen as the road winds up to the lake. The ground was covered with patchy 4-6 inches of wet snow. The campground empty, I selected the site we stayed at the year before. I quickly unloaded some gear and headed down to the dock to get some evening fishing in.

The past couple of springs fishing this lake had me spoiled – the fish had readily taken flies, spinners, whatever was thrown at them, the truly difficult portion of the fishing being battling the incessant wind. The wind was still present on this visit and trout were rising after bugs left and right, but I couldn’t pay them to bite a fly. Cast after cast, multiple fly changes and yet still nothing. It looked as though I’d be eating a freeze dried meal for dinner this evening.

The collection of birds on this lake, ruddy ducks and coots, bring a soundtrack of mechanical clucks, whistles and whirrs. If I closed my eyes, I could easily believe I was surrounded by their prehistoric counterparts that roamed the area in the Late Cretaceous. A loon and its haunting, wavering call sounded out over the lake as returned to the surface after a bit of subsurface fishing (hopefully having more success than I had). Seeing that a trout dinner wasn’t in my future, I packed my gear into the Jeep and drove back to the campsite. The dogs happily played in the snow surrounding the site while I heated up water for my dinner.

Rewind to 3 months earlier, early February, I found myself under the knife to repair what the MRI showed as a torn rotator cuff. I woke up in a sling and instructions for post op care for a biceps tenodesis. What? Apparently, once they opened me up, they found that it wasn’t a torn cuff, but rather a frayed biceps tendon and a torn rotator interval. They clipped my tendon from its original attachment point and used a screw to reattach it to my upper humerus. When I left for Utah, I was just beginning to work on strengthening the biceps muscle in physical therapy. I’m sure my ortho doc would have been thrilled to see me chopping and sawing firewood with my freshly repaired arm, but what’s camping without a campfire? I got enough wood together for the night, my arm held out, nothing a beer and a handful of Motrin couldn’t make better!

My wood selection was damp and the resulting fire was unimpressive and very smoky. The temperature dropped, and while it was still light out the dogs and I retired to the Jeep to warm up and read for a bit before drifting off to sleep.

Up early, the surface of the water was like glass, I unloaded the fly rod and headed back to the water with the dogs. Knowing that the prolific Utah Chub was a major food source in the reservoir, I tied a bunch of white and gold streamers in the weeks leading up to departure. I tied one on and made a couple casts, still targeting stumps and their roots. Just as the fly neared shore, a cutthroat shot out from under the stump and grabbed my fly. Unfortunately, it was a short lived fight as the fish shook its head and gained its freedom.

The reservoir’s water was so clear, anything cruising near shore is visible. I saw a couple cutthroat swimming back and forth and shortly thereafter a musky, about the size of the one I caught the night before, was on the prowl along the shoreline looking for a meal. Very neat to see! Another of the reservoir’s resident aquatic life was slowly crawling from the shore looking for deeper water, a large crayfish I named Pinchy. No wonder the fish get big in this reservoir, the food sources are large and plentiful!

Pinchy, my new crayfish friend. WARNING: Doesn’t like hugs!!

With the dogs again wet and muddy, it was time to make our way to the day’s intended final destination, the Escalante area. Thankfully, since we were sleeping in the Jeep, it didn’t take much time to break down camp and be on our way. Driving south on UT-72, the winding road and scenery were beautiful, eventually opening to the alfalfa fields and pastures of Loa.

Panorama of the view to the east of UT-72

Our first stop of the day would be to a panel I had recently read about, the Fish Creek Cove Panel. While the panel has some visible vandalism, it’s still very nice with large headless elk in a procession, dual color shields, hunters bearing bows. Nobody was in the parking lot when we arrived, so the dogs and I wandered the area, looking at the amazing images.

The road in to the panel

Mira relaxing in the cool sand under the elk procession on the panel

Procession of headless elk

Hunter

Additional images on the panel

There were a couple of geocaches near the panel, so we hiked the surrounding terrain, looking for them. We found the first, after a bit of searching, I chuckled when I finally noticed it. As we were heading to where I thought the other cache was, a group of people arrived at the panel. The dogs were wound up at the surprise appearance of strangers, so I decided to save the second cache for another time and hightailed it back to the Jeep.

Found it!

I’ve hit all kinds of weather traveling over Boulder Mountain: fog, bright sunshine, hail (on a motorcycle) and this time heavy snow. I hoped this wasn’t a sign of how the rest of the day would end up. Part way across the mountain, I drove down into Lower Bowns Reservoir to take a look, the snow stopping as I left UT-12. Last year, we didn’t have any luck at this reservoir so I didn’t break out the rods, just driving through the campground and heading back up.

The road into Lower Bowns with the Henry Mountains in the distance

Took Lower Bowns road rather than end up in Tartarus eternally chasing fruit I could never eat 🙂

Back up on UT-12 over Boulder Mountain heading west toward Boulder

Once down off the mountain and into Boulder, the heavy snow turned into rain and continued on and off, all the way to Escalante. I stopped at Head of the Rocks, as I always do, because I love the different colors of rock layers segmented by the winding road below. Over the Hogback and past Calf Creek campground we pulled into Escalante. I hoped to head up to Posey Lake for a couple of days to fish brookies and rainbows and enjoy the solitude of the mountain. Unfortunately, weather wasn’t our friend and the mountain was shrouded in snow clouds. After a bit of thinking, I decided I’d make a quick trip over to Beaver for the night and come back the next day for a night at Posey Lake. I made a quick stop out on the outskirts of Escalante to fish North Creek Reservoir for a few minutes, but after one hookup, heavy rains and stormy clouds again pushed me back into the safety of the Jeep. The nasty weather would follow be all the way to the night’s motel where a rainbow awaited.

My furry navigators snoring loudly, I was thankful I didn’t need help finding my way to the reservoir. I drove the windy scenic road that heads through Straight Canyon to the reservoir. There were vehicles at nearly every pullout for Cottonwood Creek, either bouldering or fishing, so I decided to forego fishing the creek this time and head right to the campground.

As it was last year, the campground was empty, only a small portion of it is open during the spring with no water available. After driving the short loop, I decided to pick site 7, the same site we had set up on the previous year’s trip. A cute little ground squirrel was checking us out from the fire pit as I was getting the dog tie outs, camp chair and dog beds laid out. I was anxious to wet a line so loaded up the dogs and started driving toward the channel where Seely Creek enters the reservoir.

Our little squirrel buddy – thankfully Yukon didn’t notice it 🙂

Last year we neglected to check out any of the small creeks that dumped into the reservoir, so I pulled off near the bridge over Seely Creek to take a look. The smell of creosote and sulphur were strong as a I walked down to the water. The creek a milky white-blue color, I tossed some spinners out in a couple of likely looking places but came up empty. Back to the Jeep, I drove down to the parking lot near the boat launch to start fishing the reservoir.

It was pretty windy, so I grabbed my fly rod and spinning rod, leashed up the dogs and made my way down to the rock breakwall. With the wind blowing directly in my face, I selected the spinning rod from my arsenal and hooked a size 2 Mepp’s spinner and started working my way down the shoreline. I found an interesting stump with a root system reaching out into the deeper water so tossed the spinner out, counted to 20, then started to slowly reel in. WHAM! Something violently hit the spinner, when it surfaced the first time I could tell it was not a small Splake like we had caught a number of last year. After 4 times surfacing and the diving back down, I finally was able to, with difficulty, net the fine fish. A beautiful male Cutthroat Trout, bigger than all three of the big Yellowstone Cutts I’ve caught in the past and those were 20″, 22″ and 23″. My best guess was a thick 24-25″, unfortunately the photos don’t do its size justice. If this was the last fish of that I caught on the trip, I’d still be happy!

Gorgeous male cutthroat trout, this photo makes him look tiny, but he was a beast!

After working the shoreline for a little while longer, it was time to wear out the dogs a little more. The boat launch was gated off and the water at its base quite shallow, so I tossed out a stick for the dogs to retrieve. Up until that point, Yukon was losing his mind because I wouldn’t let him swim in the 20 foot deep water. He would swim forever if I let him, Mira waiting in the shallows so she could try to snipe his stick 🙂

On the walk back up to the car, I was keeping an eye on the ground and saw a round track, 4 toes with no claw marks about the size of my hand. It appeared as though a big cat had been prowling the area recently! My mom loves getting photos of tracks with the caption “Here kitty, kitty!”, it really sets her at ease about my solo travels.

Swimming!!

Here kitty, kitty 🙂

Worn out again (and wet, and filthy)

We made it back to the campsite without being eaten by a mountain lion (one of my life goals-don’t get eaten) and after getting two seemingly starving dogs fed, I started making food for myself. Now, I’m not a horrible cook, just lazy, especially in camping situations. Compound my laziness with the fact that everything I seem to cook in the desert ends up having an appreciable amount of sand in it, I usually just end up eating sandwiches. I could happily survive on PB&J tortillas (tortillas survive road trips with dogs better than bread). For this trip however, I’d put my trusty old Jetboil to work. I found some Mountain House meals on sale and bought enough for a week; just add boiling water and wait sounded about my pace. The dinner selection for my evening at Joe’s Valley would be beef stroganoff. Considering that it came from a pouch, it was pretty fantastic!

Dinner Time!!

The wind had picked up after I finished my food and I seriously considered scrapping a second round of fishing for the evening. Thankfully, I fought my urge to sit around the campfire and went back down to the reservoir. I worked down the same piece of shoreline I had earlier, quickly catching a bright 14″ cutthroat. Before leaving on this trip, I looked at the contour map of the reservoir and noticed that the depth dropped quickly from 20 feet near shore to 60 just a little bit offshore. Again, I cast a spinner out (copper this time), let it sink for about 30 seconds. As I started to reel in, it was like a hammer hit. I started fighting whatever was on the other end of the line and was thinking to myself “If this is a trout, it’s huge!” When I finally got it to the surface I realized it wasn’t a trout but a tiger musky. A totally unexpected catch that made my night!

Joe’s Valley Reservoir Pano – the stump where this musky was caught is visible

TIGER MUSKY – such a beautiful fish!!

Figuring my fishing luck had all been used up for the evening, I loaded up the dogs again and headed back to camp. A nice campfire and a beer, one dog in my lap and another at my side, the evening finished as wonderfully as it started.

Mira, the 40 pound lap dog (really, she’s just a little scared of popping embers from the fire)

Fancy beds a few feet away, these two weirdos curl up on on the hard ground 🙂